


Honey Moon Shine

by frogfarm, somercet



Series: Faith the Vampire Slayer [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Emotional Sex, F/F, First Time, Post-Episode: s07e22 Chosen, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-13
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:32:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/somercet/pseuds/somercet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A month on since closing the Sunnydale Hellmouth, Faith and Willow still haven't consummated their budding relationship. Faith decides it's high time for a change. But it's no longer as simple as "want, take, have."</p><p>Willow POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Perfectly Natural](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687) by [FayJay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayJay/pseuds/FayJay). 



> Follows ["Maps: Sappho's Mix"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9347) and ["Life During Wartime"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9370) in the [Faith the Vampire Slayer](http://archiveofourown.org/series/562) 'verse.  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Acknowledgements and deadications:**
> 
> Fayjay, for [Perfectly Natural](http://archive.shriftweb.org/archive/28/perfectlynatural.html), not to mention [Displacement](http://archive.shriftweb.org/archive/26/displacement.html);  
> [](http://nwhepcat.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nwhepcat.livejournal.com/)**nwhepcat**, for showing the way  
> and to [](http://somercet.livejournal.com/profile)[**somercet**](http://somercet.livejournal.com/) and [](http://elviswhataguy.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://elviswhataguy.livejournal.com/)**elviswhataguy**, for everything.

A number of the so-called facts of life, Willow has decided, eventually transcend cultural barriers to become universal constants; not all are necessarily according to Murphy, just most of the better-known ones. She came to this conclusion long ago and far away, in the heady first days of college, and experience has proved as valid as experiment. Toast will always land butter down; Xander will never care if a vampire has a soul; Buffy will never allow herself to be truly happy.

For all that exceptions abound in an uncertain world, such absolutes have served her well going on a quarter century. The latest addition, however, is of particular interest.

"Ohmigod." Dawn's mouth has gone slack, half-eaten French fry dangling from limp fingers as she stares at a fidgety Willow. "You're kidding, right?"

At least to some people.

"'Fraid not." She manages a weak grin. "I know, I sound all pathetic, and --"

"No!" Dawn goes for a commanding glare, followed by a nod of certainty. "You're not pathetic. You just need to get laid."

"Dawn!" She'd been wondering if she could still do shocked. Apparently so.

"What?" Her companion seizes her opportunity and another handful of fries. "You know it's true."

The two of them are sitting on a raised wall around an anonymous fast-food parking lot, soaking up sunshine and avoiding crowds. It's nice to be trusted behind the wheel and enjoy some just-the-two-of-us time, after everything that's happened, but she should have remembered this was inevitable. Once Dawn's sufficiently comfortable, the first thing she wants to discuss is Willow's love life. Or lack thereof.

"It's not that simple."

Dawn levels a fry at her. "You _always_ make it harder than it has to be. You said it yourself! It's been over a month since --" She lowers her voice as a family walks by, kids trailing balloons.

"A whole month since we shut down the Hellmouth -- and now you tell me, not even before? You haven't had one _night?_" A shake of the head. "Insane troll logic."

Willow's mouth curls. "Nice to see you've moved past the pronouncing judgment phase."

"You are so lame." Dawn polishes off the last of the greased potato product, grabbing a napkin. "If I were you guys, I could totally have found time to get it on by now."

Willow sits up straighter. "Okay, first -- I wanted some of those. And, you do know Buffy goes spaz if she hears you say things like 'get it on'?"

"Here we go again." The melodramatic sigh has become Dawn's signature move. "I'm only a short stack of paperwork from emancipation."

Her heart softens at this disgruntlement; obviously the intended effect. "Tara and I talked about adopting you." Dawn looks suspicious, but Willow sounds stress-free as she gazes across the parking lot at nothing in particular.

"After Buffy died -- well, died the second time. And after Tara moved out, we were having one of those awkward coffee conversations? And I said she should adopt you, to keep away bad influences like me and your sister."

Dawn's lips curve in a reluctant smile as Willow continues. "And...it did come up one other time." A brief, secretive smile of her own. "I think you might remember that morning?"

"What -- ooh." Dawn grins in recollection, but the humor abruptly vanishes. "Did I ever tell you how much that sucked?"

Willow turns to her, voice gentle with understanding. "Which part?"

"All of it." Dawn's obviously trying not to look away; she may have picked up words like _piffle_ from Giles, but the stiff upper lip is a work in progress. "You broke up, you danced around each other for months -- then you finally get back together, and all you get is one _night_ \--" She breaks off and lowers her gaze. "It's not fair."

Willow doesn't hesitate, scooching over and pulling her into an awkward but enthusiastic hug. "I know, honey. But at least we had that."

Her charge scooches right back, leaning on her shoulder. God and Goddess, she's missed this so much; it's what made her reach out again to begin with, the desire for simple human contact and nothing more. Except it's starting to become more, and if she's not careful she'll be thinking daddy thoughts. Maybe Dawn has a point.

The teen's voice is slightly muffled against her shirt. "So when do you have it with Faith?"

"I don't know." She decides not to mention the night before the big battle; the outrage can only grow if it comes out she had smoochies offered on a platter and turned them down. "I-I hope soon. Really, I do. But there just hasn't been a good time, and...we're not pushing it."

"Well, maybe you should." Dawn disengages and sits up, giving her the More Mature Than Thou look. "I'm not saying another apocalypse is around the corner, but you need to get with the program before she changes the channel. Or turns off the set?"

"Now who's the overly metaphorical pessimist?" Willow offers her best smile of reassurance. "Relax, Dawnie. I'm not getting dumped just 'cause I don't give it up. One of the big, lifestyle advantage things?"

Dawn's eyes do the twist. "Right. Because lesbians _never_ get horny."

"And I'm thinking _you're_ the one making this harder." She grabs their trash and slides down from the wall, before Dawn can see her blush worsen. "Come on. Let's get back before you sell me into slavery."

Dawn puffs her cheeks out in a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But I'd better see some action soon." Cheeks turn flamey as Willow glances back. "I mean -- hearing is fine. Hearing -- about it. After."

Willow pulls the keys from her pocket and hits Unlock, once more thanking the (non-evil, non-insane) gods that her last rental was under a false name. Like most of her clothes, pretty much everything apart from her laptop and a few magical items, that vehicle is likely at the bottom of the pit that was Sunnydale. Giles thinks the sinkhole may fill, as the nearby sea rushes in to claim it.

She climbs in and lowers the visor, finding her sunglasses. Years of night shifting have made for sensitive eyes.

"So when are you getting your own boy or girl friend? You know, so I can harass you for a change?"

"Piffle." For once, Dawn's blase' comes off genuine. "I've seen too much wacky in the name of love. I'll keep my smoochies vicarious."

**

[Chapter 2](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/13284.html#cutid1)


	2. Chapter 2

The drive back isn't long, but it's enough for Dawn to badger her into going over the timeline. Day one after ground zero was driving to the trauma center at Santa Barbara to admit Robin, the only non-superpowered survivor with severe enough injuries to warrant professional treatment; Giles had no sooner checked them into the nearest motel when Buffy gave what she claimed was her last speech, a short and mostly stirring one that basically said anyone who chose was free to go. Nobody did, it was very moving, and their ex-general then pulled Faith and Giles away for a long discussion regarding the establishment of a kinder, gentler Watcher's Council. Willow got to hear all about it the next morning; she'd barely been awake by the time Faith came in, and they were sharing the room with three other girls.

"That must have been a drag."

"Pardon?" She expects the worst, and Dawn doesn't disappoint.

"You know. Spend the entire day slaying, go to bed with a cheeseburger and a cuddle?" A dry snort. "Come on. She _had_ to have been ready to pop."

"She said she was fine." Willow shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "Quit changing the subject."

She doesn't remember the next three days being frustrating, though they should have been with twenty people packed into four rooms and even less privacy than the old house. It was one of those nights that she got together with Buffy and Xander for a private dinner, and out of nowhere the Slayer quietly asked if he wanted to stay. Silence stretched to breaking until they both had to assure him there was no pressure, really, and finally he said he just didn't know; so tired of fighting and death, and who can blame him? And it was after _that_ that Buffy disappeared with Faith, both of them returning hours later covered in dust and looking oddly at peace. Apparently that was the 'grieving over Spike' bonding noone else was allowed to share.

"You bought that?"

"Huh?" Willow feels she knows where this is going.

"Please. When was she _not_ hot for my sister?"

_And the toaster goes to the ex-ball of energy._ She risks a look away from the road; Dawn's leaning back in her seat, hands in her lap, wearing her own Sunglasses of Inscrutableness that render the wearer impervious to glare.

She settles for stern voice. "I trust Faith. I thought you did too, and do you want me to figure this out or not?"

"I'm just saying," Dawn grumbles. "Like you'd be surprised."

She's sure it was on the fifth day that Giles, fed up with motel conditions, vowed to get them out before they were charged for the week. So it would have been the night after that he made good on his promise, tapping into one of the Council's remaining Swiss bank accounts; hardly a fortune, it was still more than adequate to cover Robin's hospital bills and move them to a bed and breakfast near Carpintera, while leaving seed capital to invest in other ways. Twenty people in five rooms wasn't much of an improvement, but these were cleaner, larger, and far less depressing. The hosts, a widow and two of her grandchildren, were blissfully uninquisitive, and the next few weeks allowed Wood time to heal, while the newly created Slayers polished their cover stories.

Willow started a haphazard journal on her laptop on day twenty-one, and so it was definitely twenty-three when Giles finished securing passports for all of their number except Faith. She remembers the overabundance of apology as he explained that he no longer had access to the resources the Council had formerly commanded; certainly insufficient, at least at this time, to fabricate a spotless identity for a wanted fugitive. The Slayer shrugged it off, but Willow still thinks she looked a little down.

"We'll get it straightened out." Dawn's confidence is unshakable. "It'll be great. We can eat chips instead of fries, and Faith can try to make the guards at Buckingham smile, and --"

"You know the watched pot never boiling? It's like that with stories and interruptions."

"Shutting up now!"

Robin was out of the hospital by the third weekend, as eager to help as Andrew and somewhat less annoying, depending on who you were. Everyone knew the geek wanted to be a Watcher, but the surprise, at least for Willow, was how many potential watchees considered him a better candidate than the ex-principal. Giles took both men under his wing as they began to make contact with the Council's surviving field agents, discussing possible assignments for the girls, aided by a locater spell rewritten from one subroutine of the Slayer creation ritual. It was that weekend that Buffy told Dawn the Eurotrip was on this year; maybe not until fall, but this time for sure. And it was Monday that Willow woke to find Xander gone, with only a note on a pillow to mark his passing.

She was already in tears at the news, and her mood went from angry back to maudlin upon learning that Giles had been up talking with him for hours, culminating in Xander leaving for Africa that very night. It would have been worse without the note, and she doesn't blame anyone for another's decision, but it sucks to think of her oldest living friend skipping out without a goodbye or a hug.

As it turned out, Giles had finalized his own 'shed-yule' and was gone for England the following day, Andrew in tow, Rona acting as bodyguard. The process of grinding bureaucratic gears into motion had begun, with their first priority a frugal rebuilding of the destroyed London headquarters; those Slayers not posted elsewhere would join them gradually, traveling in pairs. He and Willow had a semi-long talk before he left on the subjects of magic and love, which almost made up for Xander, and the mass airport hug had been captured on film by an obliging stranger. In the picture, Giles is at the center of a throng of girls, arms spread wide around those closest, with Robin and Andrew off to the side: Wood the casual observer, tailored suit replaced by jeans and a T-shirt; Andrew stiff as a rail, eyes fixed straight ahead, standing in a military salute.

Four ex-Potentials have since joined them, leaving eight in the boarding house plus the remaining core Scoobies; their occupancy down to three rooms, privacy is still at a premium, but the rest is going swimmingly. Chao-Ahn's English improves daily, and the Firefly swearalongs have greatly improved thanks to her bashful assistance. Everyone thought Vi would be homesick and eager to return to England, but the girl's developed a real taste for sunshine; the same sun and a month without coloring have faded Willow's hair toward the softer auburn of high school, now bursting with highlights from the new daytime hours. The others tease, some serious, that it's a permanent side effect of her brush with Goddess-hood. Robin communicates with Giles via Willow's laptop, learning to Watch as he works with the girls on slaying; Xander's emails are spotty at best, not like the outpourings he sends Giles, but it's enough to know that he's safe. Kennedy and Amanda ship out tomorrow for Belize, and that'll be day thirty-three.

Willow gives her passenger a meaningful stare as they pull into the driveway. "Any more questions? Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

"I'll just ask Faith." Dawn unbuckles and hops out, waving at Dominique and Caridad up on the big covered porch, sitting in the swing with tumblers of lemonade. Willow knows she has nothing to worry about.

Still, a little prayer never hurt.

**


	3. frogfarm: Honey Moon Shine - 3 of 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgements and deadications to Fayjay for ["Perfectly Natural"](http://archive.shriftweb.org/archive/28/perfectlynatural.html), remixed here slightly; and for ["Displacement"](http://archive.shriftweb.org/archive/26/displacement.html), just for being good and hot.

Unfortunately, prayer doesn't work so well on migraines.

It starts small enough, during the daily Italian lessons; instituted at Buffy's request for the power of positive thinking, or as some would put it, sympathetic magic. Dawn and Buffy both notice their tutor's discomfort and aren't averse to early stoppage, but Willow insists on finishing the exercise, hoping it'll go away on its own. Dawn makes tea when it doesn't, and Buffy holds her hand, once more sharing Slayer strength in an attempt to heal. It helps -- some -- but the poker between the eyes returns well before Faith's patrol, bearing a hefty wheelbarrow of interest.

Buffy's team is already assembled, and Willow escapes upstairs in time to avoid getting caught in the stampede. Bad enough the rumble of feet on floorboards, the excited babble that drifts up from below; a mix of girltalk and shoptalk. Amazingly, she makes it to the bedroom without falling down.

Vi and Dominique are sitting on their own bed, conversation coming to a halt as Willow collapses onto hers.

"You all right?" Vi's accent is as strange and grating as ever.

"Headache," she mumbles into the pillow. "Laying down now."

"Right." Dominique sounds skeptical, then grunts. "Hey!"

"Ssh!" The sibilance sends an extra jolt through her skull, and Willow's fantasizing about strangling them both when she hears the light switch and a door shut, footsteps retreating in the distance. After that, the fog banishes rational thought for a time.

It could be hours later, but probably isn't, when she registers weight sinking onto the bed, feels a muscle-y arm curl around her. Faith's down to one or two cigarettes a day, tobacco smell now a minor undercurrent; what remains is vanilla and raspberry and a thousand more things, edible and otherwise.

"Hey." She doesn't open her eyes. The light's off, or it would hurt worse, but sight is a bit low on the senses priority.

"Hey yourself." It's not quite a whisper. "Heard you weren't feelin' so hot. Want some water?"

"You don't have to --" Wet plastic touches her cheek, and she'd smile if it didn't hurt so much. "But, since you already did...don't wanna be rude."

The water's cold enough to refresh, not icy enough to make things worse. Faith even takes off the cap, puts it back when she's done, sets the bottle on the bedside table. All very sweet, and it should be perfect except for the obvious. Instead she's feeling mopier by the moment.

"I'm sorry."

Faith sounds amused, bemused, and completely sympathetic. "What? The whole 'not tonight, honey?'"

"Kind of." Normally it's a question of courage; right now, mere speech is an effort. "I know you have -- needs. And, it's not like I'm without them too. But I made a promise, and...I guess I'm just feeling guilty about not following through. You know?"

"Don't be a doof." Brusque yet affectionate, like everything Faith. The bed shifts as the Slayer stretches out beside her. "Been takin' care of myself four years, goin' on. Little longer won't kill me."

She'd like to roll over, but it hurts too much to think of moving. Instead she eases back against warm flesh, distracted by her own pain and Dawn's earlier words.

"You wanna see a doctor?"

"Huh?" It's hard to think through the fuzz, but Faith's concern is particularly obvious when she tries to hide it. "It's just a headache."

"Not the first since you went all bride with white hairy. Remember last week?"

She raises her head to find dark eyes staring into hers. A note of wonder enters her voice. "You're worried."

Faith's eyebrows furrow in an odd up-and-down. "And not to go all Mensa on _you_, but -- duh."

"Sweetie, it's nothing." She'd thought pet names might come across weird, but with looks like that they just come naturally. "Too much computer time. Or maybe I need glasses --"

Concern becomes stubborn on cue. "Or maybe it's some kinda major mojo feedback, and we end up gettin' to clean your brains off the wall."

Willow flinches as arms that can tear a demon in half encircle her, gently pulling her down.

"Just get yourself checked out, okay? Ain't like we can't afford it." Faith can sound eminently reasonable when she wants to. "They don't find anything, we look at the mystical angle. But -- you gotta go. 'Cause otherwise, there's the whole draggin' you in kickin' and screamin', and...I don't think either of us wants that." A glimmer of humor emerges. "Stop me if I'm wrong."

"Butch." The endearment does nothing to ease the tension in the other woman's body, right down to the arms around her. Combined hurt and snuggling make it hard to think, let alone render any kind of decision, but it's not worth a fight. A groan mixes with a sigh of contentment as she resettles into the embrace.

"Okay. I promise."

"Good enough." Already the Slayer's more relaxed. Willow has quickly grown accustomed to emotions that turn on a dime, zero to sixty in two sentences. Works in her favor more often than not, so it's a good thing. Mostly.

"Faith?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you and Buffy --" She almost doesn't. "Did something happen? Between you?"

"Huh?" Warm softness shifts beneath her. "Where'd you get that? Ain't been a problem since the 'dale. Even let her have the the last hit..." She trails off. "Oh."

"Yeah. _That_ kind of something." Too early to tell, if this was a bad idea or just a dumb one. "It's okay if it did. I-I mean -- I'd understand."

"Sorta." The Slayer is unexpectedly hesitant at the lack of reaction. "Not really --" A heavy sigh. "Almost."

She opens her eyes. Faith's looking down at her, features illuminated in the dim light from the window; not exactly _caught_, just nervous, wearing a Mona Lisa smile.

"What gave it away?"

She tries not to make it an accusation. "Dawn."

"Figures." A mock growl can't hide the discomfort. "Junior Watcher turns pro."

The blush is usually very cute, but the darkness makes it hard enough without the other distractions. "You don't --"

"First week." The confession is very quiet, the strength in those arms unwavering. "Just before we left motel hell."

Willow remains silent. Faith's right about repeating the same old mistakes. Better to move on to new ones.

"We were patrollin'...nothing special, just makin' with the small talk. Couple vamps start to tail us, so we lead 'em into an alley. Only they got a few buds in there." A wry note enters her voice. "Wouldn't have been much of a dinner for twelve. Least, that's how many we counted before they came in swingin'."

Much as she'd like to let this continue unprompted, worry is a hard habit to break. "Since you lived to tell the tale, I'm guessing -- mass bad-guy massacre."

The Slayer sounds deceptively casual. "Smoke cleared, still standin'. Rain comin' down like a bitch, just lookin' at each other, and..." Another growl, almost angry.

"Post-slayage smoochies?"

"More like 'up against the wall, bitch.'" The shaky laugh is a far cry from that normal confidence. "Don't know who moved first, it was just all lips and teeth and _god_ \--" She buries her face in Willow's hair, inhaling deeply. "Then she's cryin', and we're huggin', an' -- well, believe it or not, it's really more embarrassin' for her than me after that."

"I get it." But something must be saying she doesn't.

"That's all it was." Faith's voice is quiet and unashamed. "If she'd offered, and she wasn't all broke up over Spike? Hell yeah. Maybe." She exhales, turning serious. "Besides, if it meant hurtin' you...just as glad I didn't." A soft kiss lands atop Willow's head. "Horny, but -- glad."

Placebo it might be, already the pain feels less crucial. "Thanks."

"Uh-huh." Amusement wars with irreverence. "For what?"

"Everything." Willow nestles into ample bosom, bringing a low, musical chuckle.

"That include abandonin' my sick girlfriend to go on a supply run?"

"Oh, fudge." A tiny noise of disappointment escapes as she returns the squeeze. "Forgot it was your night."

"Manda's got a ways to go yet on that whole shoppin' unsupervised." Faith eases out from underneath, pulling back the blanket to tuck her in. "Need anything? Juice, Tylenol?"

"Just you." She snuggles deeper, clutching the pillow as Faith clears her throat.

"Well -- time to go kick shopkeeper ass." Embarrassment is quickly replaced by an audible grin. "Can't have you ruinin' my rep as a ruthless killer."

Willow smiles, hugging the pillow tighter. "Hurry back."

**

[Chapter 4](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/15036.html)


	4. frogfarm: Honey Moon Shine - 4 of 5

Willow wakes before nine, muzzy but migraine-free, to an empty bed still warm. The light through the window is friendly and inviting rather than a source of agony; the house, unexpectedly quiet. Last she remembers, Kennedy and Amanda were supposed to drive or be driven to Santa Barbara to catch a four o'clock flight. Their daily routines are slowly coalescing into predictability, but with so much up in the air it can be hard to tell, one day to the next, what's going on in anyone's life.

She finds the bathroom blissfully unoccupied, luxuriating under scalding water until ecological guilt sets in and finishing with a cold rinse that leaves her fresh as a daisy, pink as a cooked lobster. A quick search through the hamper fails to find a suitable replacement for her jeans, but it's not like she's been playing mud hockey. At least there's clean underwear for all, their first clothes-related purchase upon reaching civilization in a successful attempt to quash another mutiny in the brewing. Tops and similar frivolities are another matter, to some extent traded communally, though Buffy occasionally bemoans the loss of an irreplaceable closet (and dressers, etcetera).

Much as she dislikes dwelling on things left behind, her thoughts do sometimes drift back to her long, slinky number in crushed velour. Buffy made fighting and fashion a natural combination, but that stupid dress must have got Willow caught a dozen times, made her fall down close to a hundred. Impractical as hell, and equally hot, or in an inverse proportion depending on the hell. At least in _her_ opinion, and everyone else at the time seemed to agree.

As it is, her choice is between ruffled sleeves and an ancient Loverboy T-shirt. It's tempting to squeeze one more day out of her flannel, but it's also nearing the height of summer outside. The ruffles are a heat-magnet black, and she goes with the retro despite the feeling that someone deliberately arranged this; maybe because of it. Besides, the singer's goofy monkey smile is kind of infectious.

It's also small enough to show off her chest, drawing a wolf whistle from Kennedy when she emerges downstairs. An oak dining table scattered with the remnants of breakfast is home to Buffy, Dawn and the other Slayer: Dawn in a frighteningly sensible skirt suit and actual heels, all that long hair up in a bun; her sister wearing a nondescript white top, tan slacks and the same stylish boots she's worn since their escape from Sunnydale. For her part, Kennedy is more fabulous than ever; hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, looking poured into black lycra jogging pants and a brief top that showcases increasingly chiseled abs.

Buffy's eyebrows rise as she enters the room. "Good choice, Will. Very sartorial."

"Do you even know what that means?" Buffy looks up sharply despite the friendly tone, but relaxes on seeing her face.

"Of or pertaining to clothing. Especially men's."

"You looked that up playing Scrabble." Dawn pushes a plate forward as Willow sits. "I saved you a muffin. Cornmeal or blueberry?"

"Corn." Berry sounds a little sweet this early, plus the thing's all sugar-crusted. "You look great, Dawnie. What's the occasion?"

Kennedy's doing a great job of perfecting that pout. "What am I, the liver?"

Dawn rolls her eyes at this, or Willow's answering smile. "Job interview. Just some tempy secretary thing."

"It's a professional position." Buffy attempts to look properly stern. "Bring no shame to our family, and all will be well."

"It's an insurance company," Dawn clarifies. "I figure -- we need cash, I need experience. And I can use their database to track down Sunnydale survivors."

"There's the A student I remember." Willow pours cranberry juice, cut with water to avoid acid stomach. "So where'd you get the spiffy new duds?"

Dawn, in the middle of drinking her own juice, points at Kennedy. The Slayer props one foot on the table, pulling a rectangle of plastic from somewhere.

"Courtesy of yesterday's mail. Not to mention incredibly wealthy and tragically guilt-ridden parents." The card disappears again as its owner stands. "And now it's your turn."

"What?" A few muffin crumbs make their escape, but Willow barely notices. "Don't you have to get ready? And where's Faith?"

"Training," Kennedy interjects, as Buffy opens her mouth. "Robin and Manda wanted one last one-on-one. Well -- guess that'd be two on one. One on two?" Buffy looks at her quizzically, and the younger Slayer pretends to reconsider. "Actually, I think it's more of a group thing."

"I'd stop digging if I were you." Dawn's eyebrow is clearly a skeptical one.

Willow's trying to process the look on Buffy's face when Kennedy tosses the keys in her lap.

"Already packed, loverboy. My stuff's in the car."

She rises on reflex, still baffled. "What about Amanda?"

"Robin's dropping her off, and we're meeting her at the airport." Kennedy heads for the door without a moment's hesitation. "Let's gas up and hit town. This thing's burning a hole in my sock."

* * *

She balks again at the station when Kennedy fills the tank without flinching, waving off her protests with an air of long-suffering patience, coming back from inside with a prepay card for some ridiculous amount. Her comfort zone for wealth has been colored by years of Cordelia, her parents' few other friends of any significant means, and even in hindsight it's hard to connect her almost-lover's enthusiasm with memories of painful, forced invitations to parties she couldn't wait to leave. Where Faith moves like water, Kennedy is aggressive in ways Willow can't begin to describe; casually cutting through life and leaving a swath of reaction in her wake.

"I just want to do something nice for you. Is that so wrong?"

"That depends." She cranes her head in a doomed effort to see over parked cars. "Last time, you were trying to get into my pants."

Her passenger leans back with a smug smile. "If I have my way? By the end of this trip, you won't be wearing pants."

"Okay -- not nice to fluster the already nervous driver." An SUV cuts her off, and she growls as she clutches the steering wheel. "Do we _have_ to be here?"

"What's wrong with the mall?" Kennedy surveys their surroundings. "There's a spot -- ten o'clock. Next row."

Willow makes the corner before a yellow convertible, ignoring the resulting dirty looks. "There's a reason we started spelling it with a U."

"Huh -- oh. Cute."

She manages to maneuver into the space and kills the engine. "It's just -- Buffy was the only friend I had who ever spent a _lot_ on clothes. Not like I was some deprived urchin subsisting on castoffs, but...unless it's for a job, or some super-special occasion? Kind of don't see the point. And used stuff is -- comfier."

"So, you'd rather do bargain basement. What's the problem?"

The other woman seems expectant rather than manipulative, for the first time that morning. Willow feels the old familiar guilt threaten a comeback. "Nothing, I guess. Unless they don't take Mastercard."

"Do I really come off snobby?" Kennedy appears genuinely stricken, and Willow's about to stammer some sort of apology when the Slayer grins, giving her a gentle cuff on the shoulder.

"You are _still_ the world's easiest mark."

"And you're the biggest brat." Her mirth softens at the warm, dimpled smile on unabashed display.

"One store, before we go?" Kennedy grabs her hand and the bitey lip returns, just the way she remembers. "You need new shoes. You _want_ new shoes. You _must_ have new shoes..."

She allows herself to be pulled from the passenger side in a tumbling heap of laughter, enjoying the familiar strength in those bronzed limbs; ignoring the staring multitude as the sun shines down on them all. "It's worse than I thought. You're turning me into Imelda Marcos."

"I was thinking more Kitty Tsui, but -- any port in a storm." Kennedy snakes an arm around her waist and gazes up at the capitalist temple of doom. "Cheer up. You've got almost five hours to scold me for buying you pretties."

The steel and concrete behemoth looms overhead as they approach the doors, and she's almost struck dumb by their reflection in the enormous panes of glass; a study in contrasts, and both of them beautiful. Even her.

"So what do you get out of all this?"

The mirror Slayer's eyes meet hers, her reflection's source giving Willow a sly bump at the hip.

"Well, there's the satisfaction of helping the needy." Her escort ticks off the list on her free hand. "Supporting our burgeoning economy...making everyone wish they were me, when they see the gorgeous redhead I'm carting around..." She grins as she opens the door. "Or wish they were you. You know, if they're the discerning type."

Willow succumbs to impulse, returning the hug in force. "Thanks."

Delicate fingers capture her chin, and she looks up into deep liquid pools, so like and unlike Faith's.

"And that smile?" Kennedy leans forward, leaving a warm kiss on her forehead; just slow enough to be something less than casual. "Definitely its own reward."

* * *

Carpintera's Mall of the Worlds is both less crowded and more benign than anticipated, and she walks out of the shoe store with comfortable sneakers (on sale) and an adorable pair of black boots she wastes no time breaking in: durable, practical, just un-witchy enough not to scream goth. The leather's stiffness is already fading when they get back to the car after a brief detour for pretzels on sticks. By happy coincidence there's a thrift store in the strip mall across the expressway, where Willow graciously suffers being a dress-up doll, which apparently _some_ people never got to do as a kid (_You can't deprive me of my second childhood, can you?_). She doesn't point out, again, that Kennedy's always been more interested in getting girls out of clothes than into them.

Their tastes also clash to no small degree, but the store employees are just putting out newly sorted acquisitions, positively acres to choose from. They end up with four bags for the communal pot, plus one just for her; a few shirts, and a long peasant dress in blue and white, with matching blouse. She's no wiz with a needle -- not like Tara -- but minor alterations are well within her grasp. It fits well enough as is, though, and Kennedy doesn't have to do much arm-twisting to get her to leave it on.

Costuming takes longer than she realizes, but Willow's still ready to suggest lunch as they're leaving when Kennedy pulls out her phone to call Robin, making sure everyone's on schedule. The drive out goes faster than it should, and before she knows it they're pulling up outside the airport.

Amanda spots them and waves from the window, running out and grabbing the witch up like her life depends on it.

"I'm gonna miss you so much --" Willow coughs something about _oxygen_, and the girl releases her with a look of horror. "Oh God, I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

"Think so." She smiles fondly as Kennedy approaches, carrying all their bags with easy grace. "Showoff."

"Will's tougher than she looks." Kennedy dumps the luggage on Amanda, who barely keeps from dropping half of it, and then Slayer arms are enveloping her once more; carefully restrained strength that turns into gently picking her up so she actually _giggles_, like a giddy schoolgirl.

"She's not the only one that's gonna miss you," Kennedy breathes in her ear. "You be good, you hear?" She sets Willow back down, looking pink in the cheeks.

"I'll try." Willow's blushing more than a little herself. "And -- call if you need anything?"

The Slayers head toward the building, Amanda's voice floating back to her as she grouses about having to carry everything. Willow's just getting back in the car when Kennedy turns.

"Hey!" She looks up, and even at this distance Kennedy seems a tad flustered. "Stop and pick up -- uh -- tampons! Vi said we're out!"

_Huh? I could have sworn..._ She nods and gives a final wave, only half-thinking about which store to hit as she climbs into the car. If she's lucky she can beat the rush hour, catch up on reading before dinner. Maybe make something special.

Amanda turns to her companion with a look of disdain. "Some spook you are."

"Spooky enough." Kennedy grins. "C'mon. Let's blow this popsicle stand."

**


	5. frogfarm: Honey Moon Shine - 5 of 5 (part 1)

The dashboard clock reads just after five when Willow pulls up, parking back by the street to avoid a basketball game in progress. Chao-Ahn and Vi are facing off against Dominique, whose height and natural ability balance her opposition's superior numbers, and the garage door sports fresh scuffs and dents, testament to their pursuit of the perfect dunk, as well as the wisdom of keeping the car well away from the trample of not so little feet. She's just getting out as Dominique waves, and Vi takes advantage of the diversion to score a stellar three-pointer from the edge of the lawn.

The taller woman promptly turns on her opponent with a howl, getting a running start before bringing her down in a bone-crushing tackle, trying in vain to get a headlock on her now-helplessly laughing victim. Vi may have been the timid mouse among the Potentials, but surviving an apocalypse and becoming a Slayer has brought out a mighty roar. It's like watching baby lions mate with baby elephants. If a giraffe got caught in the mix.

"You believe this kid?" Dominique yells, applying a vigorous noogie. "No respect for -- elders --"

Chao-Ahn wears a huge grin as she runs up and screeches to a halt, bouncing on her toes. "They don't help. Can I help?"

"Almost always." Willow pulls out her bag, indicating the rest. "Those are for everyone, so -- why don't you get them inside, and we can sort through it all later. Okay?"

"Okay!" Her helper's hands are full before she can think to lighten the load, when Willow notices she's being given the strangest look. It's enough to make her check for zits until she realizes she's practically being checked out, up and down and back again.

"You look --" Chao-Ahn's bloody struggles with English have grown less so, but she's still prone to hunting words down and bludgeoning them to death. The grin returns in full. "Very nice!"

"Thanks, sweetie. You too." More than _nice_, even; unprecedented amounts of skin are showing, in a tasteful, sporty sort of way, and Willow finds herself glad for the distraction when the others come bounding over.

"'Bout time we had fresh clothes --" Vi digs a hand into Chao-Ahn's cargo as the other girl tries to kick her away, and pulls it back with a wounded glare. "Ow!"

"Get a helmet." Dominique dismisses her junior's outrage. "Anything else _we_ can carry?"

Willow hugs her bag protectively. "Yes, as a matter of fact. You and your lovely assistant can carry the undignified feminine hygiene products, and let us worry about the pretty trinkets." She nods with the authority of an evil mastermind. "Yep. I'm liking this plan."

Vi's brow wrinkles. "What're y'on about? Still got a whole box left."

"What my _lovely assistant_ means is --" Dominique grabs Vi by the scruff of the neck, pulling the last bag from the front seat. "She'll get it. Right?"

"Oh -- right. Never have too many, eh?" The nervous English cheer rings a bit false. "Manda and Kennedy make their flight?"

"Or did she call the airport, demanding they delay the plane for her shopping?" Dominique snickers and Vi joins in, not unkindly.

Willow laughs. "No, Ken was well-behaved. Very sweet, actually."

"Oh? How sweet?" Dominique's eyes light up in appraisal. "That's a nice dress."

"Forget the dress," Vi gushes. "I love the boots. Those buckles are the _cutest_!"

"They're the only new thing." Willow's cheeks grow warm even as they enter the shade of the porch. "Kennedy kind of insisted."

"That," Chao-Ahn pronounces, "is what she do!"

"Does." Vi holds the door open.

"Feh. Stupid words."

"I agree." Vi races upstairs, sneakers clomping on bare wooden treads as Chao-Ahn follows with the bags. "Just a second!"

Willow sits on the couch, working her feet in the boots. They're a little stiff and chafey, but they should stay on long enough to reshape. Besides, Faith might like them. "Where is everyone?"

Dominique sets the basketball to spinning on one finger, which thankfully isn't as hazardous as when the others attempt it. "Robin's not back. Still running errands, I think. Buffy's upstairs, Faith's out shopping..."

"Shopping?" Willow blinks. "Not being shopped for? We _are_ talking about Faith, right?"

"Good point." The brunette considers, giving the ball another spin. "Got me. Dunno what the hell she's doin'."

A thundering herd of three descends the stairs, Buffy leading the pack.

"Hey, feelin' better girl. Everyone get out of Dodge?"

"On time," Willow nods. "For once."

Buffy plops down on the couch beside her. "I heard _you_ had fun."

"I was dress-up doll." Her attempt at modesty fails, as expected.

"Wha--? Tramp! You never let me play dollie with you, and I'm your best friend!"

"I never had the guts to wear what you put me in. I thought I looked trampy -- but stylish," she hastily amends. "Very stylish! Mod, even!"

"Fight! Fight!" Dominique cheers. Vi giggles, trying to grab the ball away.

"Not in the house, guys. You'll pay for that crack, Willow Rosenber-- _Oh!_ Boots! Look at those boots!"

"They're the only thing she bought me --"

"If dusky lesbians would buy _me_ boots with buckles, I'm working the wrong side of the street!" The old lower lip is starting to sneak out. "And what's in that bag? And that dress?"

Willow can't help a smile. "Well, the only new thing. My lesbidar may not be the world's most accurate, but I don't really look at you and think Sappho, Buff."

"For boots like that, I could be a lesbian! A great, big lesbian!"

Chao-Ahn looks perplexed, while Dominique's laughing too hard to care when Vi finally snatches the ball from her grasp. "An' on that note, we're out of here!"

Willow looks up. "Oh? Where to?"

"High school down the road." Vi opens the door. "Got a basketball court."

She turns to Buffy. "What about you? Gonna be Sports Night gal?"

"Eh? No, I have to pick up Dawn. Oh -- I need the keys."

"Here you go." She hands them over. "Well, I could go with you guys. I don't really play, but I could watch. Maybe tastefully cheer from a nice, comfy spot in the bleachers?"

"Oh." Vi blinks, and Dominique intervenes.

"Actually, we were gonna play with the guys that hang out there." The brunette pantomimes in demonstration. "You know. Dribble dribble, flirt flirt?"

Buffy frowns. "I thought you were going to beat them and rub their faces in it."

"Well, yeah. Both." Vi ushers a grinning Chao-Ahn out the door.

"Successively or concurrently?"

"Both. Also, flirting until they take us somewhere nice." Dominique waves. "Don't wait up!"

"_Joi gin_!"

"Bye, Chao-Ahn. Don't let them get you into trouble!"

"_Ai ya_!"

She leans back, enjoying the sudden quiet. "Think they're the first set of girls ever with that plan?"

"In this town? Could be." Buffy looks down with a calculating air. "Can I try those on?"

"As long as I get them back." Willow reaches down to unbuckle, and Buffy's pout returns.

"You still owe me a purple-stained peasant top." Her friend manages to get them on without forcing and strikes a pose. "Have to admit -- girl's got taste. So, you had fun shopping?"

"More at the vintage store. Less guilt."

"You don't deserve guilt. Not for these." Buffy sits down and pulls the boots off. "Here. You want them to stretch to your feet."

"I know."

"I know you know." The Slayer leans on the cushions, arm on the sofa to prop her head as Willow finishes buckling up.

"Wonder how Dawn's interview went."

"Oh, she did great. I'm picking her up from work."

"That's our girl." Willow stamps her foot in the heel to seat it, sitting back in a mirror of her friend's position. "So. How've you been?"

The blonde lets out a sigh. "Stressed. Happy. No real chance of vacation for a while, but no burger flipping. So -- happy. Officially." Her smile fades. "What about you? I mean, Faith...and Xander, leaving like that --"

Willow examines the fuzz on the couch. "I'd rather talk about Faith than Xander."

Buffy's hand starts and hesitates before finally touching her own. "I think he was in a lot of pain."

"But that's the point! How could he leave me? We never even got to talk about Anya, or --" Her eyes start burning.

"Sometimes..." One finger finds a space between her fist and cheek, softly stroking her skin. "Sometimes it hurts more to talk about it. Believe me." The fingers move into her hair. "He just needs to get past it, and he'll be back. He'll be back someday --"

Buffy's voice catches, eyes shining window glare, and they meet halfway in a mutual embrace. Stoicism be damned, Willow's gone from dry to grief like a flooded basement. She should be ashamed to cry before Buffy, near-orphan and premature mother, and especially about Xander; bereaved, guilt-ridden, no living family he'd ever want to see. Plus, tears and snot and stuff on shoulders. But sometimes she's selfish, too. About some people.

She reaches for the box on the coffee table. "And Spike --"

Slender arms tighten around Willow. "I'll take one of those." Her friend's voice sounds a little soggy as well.

"God, Buffy. That must have been so hard --"

"What?" The Slayer utters a shaky laugh as she dabs at her eyes. "No. When I killed Angel? _That_ was hard. Spike --" She swallows. "All I had to do was...leave."

"He got what he wanted." Willow grabs a fresh tissue of her own. "Big, stupid, glorious death. Breakfast of champions."

"And the last word." Buffy blows her nose in a delicate honk. "Big stupid heroic jerk."

They sit there forever, foreheads touching, huddled against the lonely future until an awkward throat clearing intrudes. Willow lifts her head from Buffy's shoulder to find the youngest grandson in the doorway, distinctly unnerved at the sight of more than one weeping girl at a time. Or women; kid's not old enough to drink, for all he's built like Olaf the troll with less hair.

"Oh, um -- hi."

"Hey, Robbie." The Slayer already sounds recovered, though Willow knows better. "Sorry, we -- probably need a sign. Crying female crossing."

"No, it's cool." He doesn't smile at her attempted humor; they remember his reactions when they first arrived, growing more grim with each revelation of Sunnydale's casualties, and it's obvious they aren't crying about boyfriends. At least not living ones. "Can I get you anything?"

"No. Thank you."

"We're fine," Willow confirms. She disengages, regaining her bearing. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to tell you I'm spending the night at my girlfriend's. I left the number on the fridge. In case of emergency?"

"Sure." Buffy nods as Willow looks about.

"Where's your grandma?"

"Church. She won't be back 'til late."

"Wow. She's really dedicated, isn't she?"

"Huh?" A knowing grin. "Oh, no. It's bingo night. Not the rescue mission."

"Oh." Willow grins back. "Well, good for her."

"Yeah. She needs time with her friends." He heads for the door, anxious to depart before they begin discussing deep feelings. "See ya."

"Bye." Buffy wads up tissues as the door shuts behind him. "I should head out too. Dawn's probably wondering where I am." She shoves the keys in her pocket and stands. "You okay? You still seem pretty wound up."

"Yeah. I'll enjoy the empty house while I can. You guys coming back?"

"Don't know. Maybe I'll take Dawn to the mall. I'd invite you, but Faith should be back soon." Willow smiles, and Buffy looks moderately scandalized. "What?"

"Giving away the bride much?"

"No!" The grin is almost bashful. "Well -- maybe. I don't know. Am I?"

"Maybe. She's just so..." Willow looks down in her lap, hands twisting at the belt of her dress. "I don't really know what she wants."

Buffy stands just inside her vision, hands on hips, elbows back; sounding almost serious. "Well, that's one thing to talk about."

"Yeah." She doesn't quite trust herself to say more.

"Do you want to stay?" Willow is silent. "Here? With her? We're not abandoning you guys, we -- we just need more time. So Faith can come to England, too."

"I know."

Buffy smiles out loud. "I know you know."

**


	6. frogfarm: Honey Moon Shine - 5 of 5 (part 2) (first half) (PG-13)

  She scrubs the smudges from her face after Buffy leaves, perusing herself in the mirror for long moments, unable to decide if she comes off alluring or depressed. Maybe both. The brief busywork of putting clothes away, enjoying unaccustomed silence while thinking on what to do next -- fix lunch, work on her spell -- leads to wondering if it was a mistake to avoid the Slayer smoochies issue. Probably would only have embarrassed Buffy more; Willow doesn't for a moment think her best friend is out to steal her girl, and they're old enough to know these things happen, with or without magic.

  Minor rationalizing complete, even tummy grumbles and the prospect of food pale before the daily checking of email. Her trusty laptop fetched from under the bed, she sets up on the dining room table and starts the pokey dialup process, grabbing books and a drink while it logs in. She's convinced Andrew to ease up on the huge attachments, but she'll be a much happier camper once they're back in broadband land. Though who knows when that might be, or where.

   The paperclip next to Andrew's name makes her cringe, and Willow breathes easier on seeing the scans she requested. He and Giles are digitizing their remaining books and surviving fragments from the Council library, the senior Watcher's longstanding arguments finally quelled by her new homebrew virus scanner, to guard against future Malcolm-Molochs. Jenny would have appreciated that more than the Potential conversion, and not just in an academic sense: One of the few Willow has ever known who saw no distinction between technology and magic, able to blend the disciplines like no one else.

   Translating the scanned text should be short work, but the original pages were crumbled and burnt, requiring precise zooming to tell a scorch from an umlaut. Once that's complete she can start patching in actual code, rewriting on the fly. Working from a combination of books, computer and hardcopy notes soon results in an intricate patchwork that covers every inch of the table; at some point she thinks to refill her water, or thinks of refilling it before falling back into the zone. Her custom development tool is working like a charm, so much easier than retrofitting CAD Lisp to the unequal task of spell construction.

   Hands cover her eyes, and she stifles a squeak.

   "Check out the bookworm."

   Her heart slows at the tickle of lips at her ear, the unmistakable feel of boobs pressed against her back. The difference in those words is like night and day; from sultry and sinister to amused affection. Still, she can't help but sound thrown.

   "You did that on purpose."

   "Busted." Hands slide down, arms encircling her middle. She tries to turn but Faith's already curling around her, sliding into her lap.

   "Don't think I'm goin' karaoke...but I think we're alone now."

   A reluctant smile sneaks past. "I suppose that was your doing?"

   "All part of the evil scheme."

   Willow forces herself to relax, looking up at her girlfriend. Dark hair, still longer than her own, spilling everywhere unrestrained; pale skin finally starting to tan, the usual black tank top and faded jeans. All wrapped in this wonderful outdoorsy smell, flowery shampoo with a touch of fresh sweat and the combination of _relax, girlfriend_ and _Faith_ seems perfectly normal and anything but.

   The Slayer's gaze slowly travels down and back, lips pursing in an appreciative smile.

   "Lookin' good." A glimmer of uncertainty. "And kinda busy."

   "It's nothing. Really --"

   Faith cranes her head around, taking in the table and its contents. "Looks like a lotta somethin' from here."

   "Nothing that can't wait." She sets down her pencil, working the cramp from her hand before resting it along the curve of Faith's back. Her vision fills with cleavage as the Slayer arches, smiling at her resulting discomfort.

   "You sure? 'Cause I can come back."

   "Now's good. Actually --" Really, there's no right way to say it. "I was thinking we should talk."

   "Mm." Rough hands grasp hers as Faith stands, encouraging her to follow. "Good talk or bad talk?"

   Her shiny new boot buckles have become unaccountably fascinating. "Outlook hazy, try again later. Could go either way, but I was kind of hoping...any?"

   "Talk." Exasperation and amusement, shining through loud and clear, ever more one and the same. "Bringin' out the big guns, huh?"

   Willow remains silent, and fingers chuck her under the chin. She looks up to cryptic smile in full effect.

   "That's, like -- my lame attempt at a joke. You're supposed to laugh."

   "I don't remember taking vows of humor." That sounded so wrong, and she's ready to grovel. Faith doesn't let go.

   "So, talk. Outside."

   "Fresh air and sunshine?" Willow allows herself to be led through the kitchen, curiosity overcoming guilt. "What do _I_ get?"

   "Hopefully? A surprise." The brisk tone doesn't mask underlying tension. "Don't have a lot of practice with the good kind."

   Out back the yard is immense; home to a number of bird feeders and smaller trees, five gigantic oaks that tower over the rest. The copious foliage and uneven terrain put an early end to the Slayer Super Bowl before it could get off the ground, both neighbors and highway a good distance away. Faith is leading her toward the largest of the five trees, tugging a little more vigorously, and as they round the far side she sees the checkered blanket from the living room couch; nearby, a covered wicker basket.

   Willow gasps. "A picnic? Oh..."

   "More of an outside lunch. With picnic-like things." Faith guides her down to the blanket, sets to unpacking sandwiches in paper, an assortment of plastic containers.

   "Ham?" Willow raises an eyebrow and Faith looks near to blushing, pulls back the offending offering. "Right -- my bad. Turkey?"

   "You mean the evil white meat? Symbol of all that is patriarchal and wrong?" Genuine confusion causes Willow to relent. "I'm kidding. That's _my_ lame joke."

   The puzzled expression clears. "Oh -- Thanksgiving. Angry native Americans."

   "And pincushion Spike." She digs in as containers are opened. Strawberries and muskmelon emerge; potato and other salads.

   "Try the chicken -- 's got grapes in it. Funky."

   "Anything to drink?"

   "Water, juice or soda?" Faith produces a plastic cooler from somewhere behind the basket. "Be honest, I was thinkin' of just gettin' ya drunk." Her lips twist in their patented crooked smile. "Or maybe gettin' me drunk. Hadn't really decided."

   "And they say romance is dead." She must have found the elusive balance of sarcasm and humor; the smile doesn't retreat.

   "But -- no ID, and Robin wasn't too keen on buyin'. Scared someone might report him to the school board. You ask me, guy's been around teenage girls too long." Faith grabs a cola for herself, handing over the indicated water. "Plus I think he's got a thing for Slayers."

   "Who doesn't?" Willow half-drains her water without a breath. Faith looks suitably impressed.

   "Damn. Thirsty much?"

   She sets down the bottle, tucking her dress under her legs. "I had a drink inside. I was gonna get more, but...I kinda got lost, thinking about it."

   "I'm datin' the absent-minded professor." Faith bites into her sandwich and Willow realizes that technically, her girlfriend isn't kosher. One finger tucks a piece of ham inside ruby lips. "'S cute."

   She risks a quick glance over. "You spent a lot of time on this."

   "Not like I had anything else to do." The Slayer pops open her cola, looks down at the blanket. "Sorry -- guess I should say, I did it all for you. Besides, I had tons of help. I'm not good at --" She grimaces, gesturing with the bottle. "Stuff like this."

   "No, it's great." She scoots closer, non-sandwich hand resting on a denim-clad knee. "It's super sweet. _You're_ sweet."

   "I don't feel that way."

   Almost dumb enough to ask. Instead, Willow returns to her sandwich, not taking her eyes off Faith, who is methodically chewing through her own while looking everywhere but -- well. At least she isn't the only nervous one.

   "You are." She leans over, brushing a crumb away. "But not all the time."

   The kiss lands at the intersection of lips and jaw, and Faith returns the pressure before rising, staring around like a Martian tourist fresh off the boat. Her hands flex at her sides.

   "I'm not like this. I don't -- buy flowers, I don't --"

   "You _are_ like this." She sits up and takes Faith's hand in hers. Warm and soft, steel cables beneath. "_You_ did this. So you got advice, you got help. So does everyone. I did with Tara, and Oz --"

   Faith stands like the proverbial rock until allowing herself to be pulled down; not exactly into her lap, but at least kneeling alongside. Willow pulls her legs in, smoothing wrinkles from her dress.

   "Look. This all started when --"

   "You couldn't keep your dirty mind to yourself?" Faith's voice is rough, but she's smiling.

   "You know it was way more than that." Willow smiles back. "And you know how I feel. So -- why the wiggins?"

   A brief exhalation. "Wasn't real. 'Til now."

   She's been here before, more than once, but it doesn't rock the boat any less. "You mean -- it didn't seem real. It wasn't happening to you."

   "Yeah. We weren't fuckin'. Or fighting. People weren't leavin' us behi--"

   The words come to a halt as Willow leans in again.

   "Do you want to stop?" It isn't fair, touching like this; so close it's worse than a tease, feeling her own nearness have the same effect in turn. Then again, the last month of nights have included more than their share of quiet talks, Faith draped across the bed on her elbows, all but flaunting her chest in Willow's face. Mercy is not an option.

   "No." The single word a near whisper.

   "You know what I like about you?" She slowly wraps her arms tighter, not quite pulling down. The Slayer succumbs with seeming reluctance as Willow reaches over for a strawberry.

   "What?"

   "You're honest. I had problems with -- with that, in the past. I was wrong. So it's important to me that you're honest. Like last night. Like right now."

   Faith looks unconvinced but lies back, one leg draped over hers.

   "I like that we understand each other. I don't think there are a lot of people who know what we know. About ourselves." Pain flashes in her eyes. "I don't want people to not judge me. I want them to understand."

   "I don't wanna be loved for that --"

   Willow stops the words with a berry to Faith's lips. Her eyes are darker than the Slayer has ever seen without magic; the berry looking redder and riper by the moment.

   "There's more. You're loyal --"

   Faith tries to stand, and Willow doesn't let go. "I know what Wilkins meant to you. So, you made the wrong choice about who to trust. At least you _made_ a choice. Unlike world-ending me, who just -- threw a tantrum -- you took a stand. And you stuck with it, all the way, and between crazy Watchers and mayors? Maybe you didn't see much of a choice." Another deep breath. "So. You're loyal."

   "Dog's loyal." The Slayer doesn't look away. "This your way of apologizin' for that big speech?"

   Her grip remains solid. "Do I get one for someone waving their big knife in my face?"

   "That wasn't wavin' -- I had total control. Call me twisted, but I still miss that thing, and if you wanna talk? Let's talk meeting of the minds."

   The pronouncement isn't so much of a shock, delivered without malice or confrontation. Still, it takes a moment to organize her thoughts.

   "I said I was sorry. And you said it didn't matter -- basically." Her other hand rests on Faith's leg, cradling the strawberry. "I admit, it feels like cheating sometimes. Like, you're supposed to live with someone your whole life before you can really know them. But it's not total recall, or anything. Mostly it's just this feeling, and every so often I remember something else...and I love you even more."

   "Crazy talk." Faith's obviously just getting started. Willow cuts her off.

   "I love that you know that I know. About your coma dream, with Wilkins, and the picnic -- and you still did this for me. I love that all those wild stories you told us when you came to Sunnydale -- gator wrestling, the naked preacher -- all true. Every word. I love that you can tell me you kissed Buffy, and that you miss your knife, and you'll kick my ass if I turn evil --" She pauses to breathe, gearing up for the big finish. "You don't hold back. You don't tell people what they want to hear, and you've never treated me like a victim. Not once."

   The Slayer plucks at the blanket, not looking away. "And you're not afraid of me?"

   "Now you sound like Spike." Willow offers a subdued grin. "Is that what you want?"

   Faith swallows. "No."

   "Didn't think so." Her smile fades. "You want to know what scares me?"

   Faith doesn't respond, and Willow plunges on. "That I won't ever know what you want. That it's gonna be Buffy and Angel all over -- she found out he was way older guy, and she worried for so long that he'd never be satisfied with poor, inexperienced her. Tried so hard to figure out what he wanted, whatever it was. So she could be that girl."

   Lips twist in a frown. "We talkin' relationship, or sex?"

   "Um." Sheepishness is apparently all the confirmation required. Faith regards her with a critical eye.

   "Y'know, you really are a doof?"

   "So you keep saying." The blush feels to be progressing nicely. "This is your idea of comfort?"

   "Serious as a heart attack. It ain't rocket science. Hormones, DNA -- we're just mother nature's bitches."

   "And again with the romance."

   "Just listen, all right? Bodies comin' together, that's nothin'. I mean -- it's easy. Throw in feelings, all that stuff -- whole new ball game. Makes bumpin' uglies look like a walk in the park." The Slayer plucks a blade of grass, twirling it between thumb and forefinger. "Supposed to be easier if you talk about it. Which was the part I always sucked at, if it wasn't about bein' horny. Or pissed off."

   Willow considers this. "Sex easy, love hard?"

   "Pretty much." Faith runs the grass blade over her boot buckles. "Anything else?"

   Willow runs one hand through her hair. "I don't know. It's like part of me -- the crazy part, obviously -- part of me keeps thinking this isn't real. That I'm dead, or dreaming, because...this is, like, a happy ending. And we don't get those. And then I think how bizarre it is, but it's not, and -- I don't _know_ what it is."

   "I know." Another squeeze. "Strange, but -- good."

   She looks down at the joining of their hands. "And then there's the crazier part. The one that keeps wondering -- just what the hell does this woman see in me? That kind of thing. I still don't know what you want, and --"

   "I want you."

   Willow sputters to a halt.

   "Not askin' for the moon with a white picket fence. Redemption, true love, perfect happiness -- not gonna happen. I just want whatever I can have." Faith leans forward, leaving a mirror kiss against her lips; retreating before she can reciprocate. "With you."

   She releases her death grip on the Slayer's hand, hugging the other woman close. Her heart's doing this weird hip-hop in her chest, and she refuses to cry twice in one day. Tears of joy are just as annoying.

   "So -- more than a date, less than a marriage?"

   "Might as well be." Faith clears her throat, sounding suspiciously chokey. "Don't know what ya see in me --"

   "Everything." She lifts Faith by the chin, forces their eyes to meet. "You didn't think you were ready to be free -- but you knew Angel needed help. You saved him. And you did a kick-ass job."

   "I --"

   "When you came back to Sunnydale, nobody saw how far you'd come. You didn't want to lead anybody, you weren't trying to steal Buffy's life -- but you let yourself stay in her shadow, until a bunch of scared girls made you the new Grand Poobah. Those kids didn't have a clue who you were, and you know what? They didn't care."

   She holds up the strawberry, plump and crimson.

   "Will?"

   Faith hardly ever calls her that. "Yeah?"

   "How'd ya hold me down?"

   The Slayer sounds more than idly curious. Willow smiles.

   "Berry magic."

   An eyebrow rises. "Berry magic."

   Willow bites the stem off, spits it in a trajectory over her girlfriend's head. "Berry magic."

   Faith smirks.

   "Guess I'm still a bad influence."

 


	7. frogfarm: Honey Moon Shine - 5 of 5 (part 2) (conclusion) (NC-17)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >   
> _I can not express the horror I feel when you ask me, "Are you feeling sexy today?"_  
> \- [](http://somercet.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://somercet.livejournal.com/)**somercet**  
> 
>
>>   
> _"Ninety-nine point nine nine nine, ad infinitum percent of the best relationships in the recorded history of the world, have had to make do with acceptable happiness."_  
> \- [Wesley Wyndham-Pryce](http://buffy-vs-angel.com/angel_tran_102.shtml)  
> 
> 
> written in [Lesbonese](http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2006/03/27)

   "You have no idea." Willow settles back on the blanket, strawberry between her lips. Dead sexy as she stretches, both hands above her head, wanton effect only marginally spoiled by a goofy smile.

   Faith smiles and leans down, elbows on either side boxing her in, one knee slipping between her own. Soft lips linger at the curve of her neck, the edge of her mouth, rounded softness coming together; she smothers a yelp at the unexpected nip, but Faith's already moved in for the kill: Biting down, drawing out contact until the fruit divides, showing off her half before folding it inside her mouth.

   "Whaddya say?"

   "Mmm." Willow licks her lips as she grins up. "Thank you, ma'am...may I have another?"

   Faith reaches over, dangles the morsel just out of reach. Willow's expecting _Say please_, or _What's the magic word?_, but the Slayer just bites the stem off, spits it to one side before taking the remaining berry in her mouth, leaning down with a look of intent expectation.

   She takes her sweet time returning the gesture, dainty nibbles that occasionally stray to include lips of Faith, lapping up any juices that dare attempt escape. Teeth sink in her bottom lip, hard enough to hurt before soothing wet covers the bite, sting and zing through her blood; Willow grips the blanket and realizes they're downright _writhing_: Nothing conspicuous or grindy, slow back-and-forth that makes all the right places fit together just so. Eager mouth pursues the last of the berry inside as her hands rise, ravel through piles of sweet-smelling hair, and she's trying to find the line between feeding frenzy and a real kiss when Faith pulls back with glittering eyes, a knowing smile.

   "Okay down there?"

   Willow sits up on one elbow, striving for composure. "Five by five."

   A chuckle, as Faith produces another strawberry. "You sure?"

   She doesn't react and the Slayer looms overhead, right in her face, forcing her to lean back. The danger smile is at least an eight as Faith holds up the berry.

   "Talk. Or I put this where the sun don't shine."

   Her eyes widen a fraction before she offers a subtle grin. "Actually, there are a lot of amusing ritual uses for menstrual blood, in --"

   "I meant your ass, Red." The dangerous expression grows thoughtful. "Not a bad idea either."

   Willow's not quite sure if the noise she just made qualifies as an _eep_, but Faith doesn't appear to notice. Or care.

   She lays there, twiddling her fingers. "It's just...I don't want you to be disappoin--"

   "With what?" Another nip at her neck, not as hard. "The part where I screw you into a limp bag of meat?"

   "Um --"

   "Still workin' on that." Hot breath tingles the bitten spot. "Or maybe after...where you follow me around like a happy puppy?"

   "Um." The repetition is even shakier than the original. "More of a, cat person these days. And, the first -- doesn't sound like much fun for the bag."

   "Funny." Faith zeroes in, apparently seeing something more; sits up, looking a good deal less cocky.

   "I just --" Sooner or later, you just have to quit worrying about sounding stupid. "I want you to feel safe with me."

   The Slayer frowns, puzzled. "Okay -- wasn't expectin' that. You mean --"

   Words stop in their tracks at the kiss, turning to silent, hungry response as she climbs into Faith's lap, twines her arms about the Slayer in a grip that could hurt a normal person; doing her utmost to devour the other woman inside out, pulling away with swollen lips and flashing eyes.

   "I mean."

   "Whoa." Faith looks a trifle dazed; definitely pleased. "So...you wanna be on top, sometimes?"

   "It doesn't have to be literal." Willow quashes the shyness with an effort. "I just want to...take a more active role. Do stuff for _you_, without --"

   "I get it." No lie, from the look of it. "Still hungry?"

   Shy turns sly. "Not for food."

   The warning signs have time to register when she finds herself in the air, hoisted over one shoulder. "Hey!"

   "You sit tight, huh?" Faith stands and steps off the blanket, holding Willow steady as she kneels to repack. "Lemme do the heavy liftin'."

   Willow suppresses a snicker, envisioning her undignified position from an outside perspective. On the other hand, this view has its advantages. She briefly weighs the consequences of giving in to temptation.

   "My god. Did Superwoman just call me fat?"

   The world bobs and rotates as Faith turns, walking uphill toward the house, blanket and basket in her free hand. "Want me to club ya over the head? Drag ya by the hair?"

   "At least let me _carry_ something --"

   "Shush." Faith beats her to it again, releasing her long enough to smack her upturned hindquarters.

   "Big bully! Barbarian! Cave Slayer --" Willow beats a tattoo on her abductor's back with both fists. Another shriek escapes when Faith lets go to open the door, and she ends up with a double handful of hips in her effort to maintain balance.

   "Settle down, chick." Faith sounds more than mildly amused, depositing her human cargo on the counter; handing a flustered witch the basket and cooler. "You wanna put stuff away, be my guest. But if I were you, I'd be takin' advantage of the mush while it lasts."

   "You think it's likely to stop?" That sounded way more taken aback than she wanted. Faith shrugs as she opens the fridge, and Willow reflexively starts handing over various items.

   "Can't live on cloud nine. Might be on vacation, but we're still in the business. And y'know, it's crazy, but -- I hear even normal folks got their ups and downs."

   The Slayer finishes stowing the goods, looks up to a face apparently more worried than she realized.

   "Hey." Faith takes the basket from her lap, sets it to one side. "Chill. I just wanna spoil ya a little longer, okay? It --" Something catches in her voice, and rough fingers cup Willow's cheek. "It's your day."

   The only thing that leaps to mind is _stupid words_, and Willow isn't sure who moves first. Her hands roam over muscular shoulders, rising to pull Faith's hair back; feeling fingers trailing down her sides, gathering up her dress in a maneuver the still-functioning part of her cerebrum classifies as not quite sneaky.

   She wonders later how they made it upstairs, what with _hands_ everywhere; working soreness from her back, slipping into her dress. They hit the top of the stairs in a liplock, rampant ravaging in both directions as they make their way down the hall, narrowly missing portraits on the wall as the doorway looms. Willow's trying to decide if it's better standing when she's lifted again, into strong arms.

   The urge to kick and flail prettily loses to a giggle. "I can walk too, you know."

   "I know." Faith sounds utterly guilt-free. "Some traditions are kinda cool."

   She leans in for a nuzzle. "Don't suppose you'd be interested in the evil-spirits history behind all that?"

   "Later. Watch your feet --" Faith turns sideways, and Willow hugs tight as they enter.

   "Careful." The Slayer grins, hugging back. "Keep forgettin' ya ain't B--" She stops, forehead against Willow's. "Strong. Tough, I meant, and...you wanna hand me my feet anytime, I think I still got room --"

   "Shush." Willow closes her eyes, snuggling deeper. "This is nice. I feel safe." Her voice grows quiet. "Protected."

   An awkward cough. "Weren't you the one wantin' a modern relationship? With the equality and all?"

   She smiles into Faith's chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

   "Hm." The pretense is beautifully transparent. "I bring home the bacon -- or whatever -- we take turns cookin', and whoever's less sick or banged up does the comfort?"

   Willow looks up, nervous tinged with mischievous. "You'd like that?"

   "Well, not the sick and banged up part, but -- sounds fair to me." Faith's grip remains solid; feels like they could stand here forever. "It's no big. You don't need to prove anything --"

   "Then kiss me."

   Sunlight filters through gauzey curtains, bathing the room in haze, and another giggle threatens until kissage takes precedence. Languid, unhurried; Willow could pretty much do this all day.

   She pulls away, with sparkling eyes.

   "Put me down."

   Adoration takes on a wicked air. "What do I get?"

   "Hopefully?" She reins in the smile. "A surprise."

   Faith looks puzzled, yet curious, obliging her request. One second, two --

   "Whoa --!" The dramatic pause is superfluous icing on top of sweeping a stunned Slayer literally off her feet; spinning them around in a whirl of laughter and flying hair. Shock and delight register just as Faith is hurled onto the bed with a whoop, bouncing once before Willow lands atop her, wearing an enormous grin.

   "What the hell!" Real surprise in the Slayer's voice; all kinds of curious. "Been eatin' your Wheaties?"

   "Berry magic." Her grin turns mysterious. "Can you feel it?"

   Faith stretches, adds an enticing wriggle. "Feel _somethin'_. S'like..." She pauses in mid-thought, one hand rising to her chest as the oddest look comes over her face. Willow isn't sure of every ingredient, but a mind at work has a look all its own, adorable and sexy in one package.

   "This is..." Faith's other hand finds hers, but the Slayer seems lost in thought, somewhere far off and away. "Wild. You --" Eyes clear as she returns from where ever. "You got it -- from _me?_"

   "Head of the class." The smile wavers. "It's not stolen, or anything --"

   "Hey, ease up. It feels -- nice." Faith lowers her voice, like they're sharing a secret. "So what's the one-syllable scoop on this spell?"

   "Not technically a spell. More of a ritual."

   "What's the diff?"

   "Sorry -- more syllables." Willow reflects a moment. "Spells create energy, or harness it, and then apply it. Ritual focuses on what's already there. It doesn't create anything, and it's not like harnessing, or binding -- more like, you tap into the essence of the thing. That's why long spells have so much ritual, to sustain the caster...make it easier to control, and this is probably boring you to tears --"

   A reassuring squeeze. "C'mon, teach. Make with the impartin' while I'm all receptive."

   "You sure?" She cocks one eyebrow, trying for seductive. "You're making it kinda hard."

   Faith's gaze drifts southward. "Not unless there's somethin' else ya been hidin'."

   Willow lands a playful slap, as a hand strays into her waist seam. "So. When I fought Buffy -- that was cheating. In a big way. I was drawing on forces -- well. Long story short --"

   "Cheating."

   "But when she meditated with me, after Gnarl? To heal me? And the other day, with my headache? That was different. For all kinds of reasons, and -- I can't help it, this is gonna sound _so_ cheesy, but -- it's the smoochies, all right?"

   The Slayer's face splits in a grin, and Willow rushes on. "It's attuned to positive emotion, that's all. The smoochies are like, a catalyst. Or a side effect --"

   "Some side effect." Faith pondering is indeed a sight to encourage. "Incredible Hulk in reverse?"

   "Oh, no. No hulking out. For the Buffy beatdown, I had the whole package -- strength, speed, skill, toughness...you name it. But I'm not draining your power, or reducing it. I'm just sharing your essence, and the...um..." Her face colors. "Intimacy...not just physical -- it creates this feedback loop. The longer it's sustained, the more I can draw from you without nasty side effects. But it can never be as powerful as the original source. It's like a shadow, but -- from the moon, instead of the sun?"

   She looks down, expecting boredom.

   "Cool! You'll totally be able to save me." Faith pulls her into a hug. "Assumin' the bad guys only try to knock me out while we're mackin'."

   "Usually not that considerate." The train of her mind is threatening derailment again, but the Slayer releases her with a thoughtful look.

   "Think I could learn some of that stuff, too? Or do you have to be born witchy?"

   "Sure!" Willow feels a little thrill, deep inside. "No, Dawn's picked up a lot, and she's not really...um." A slight cough. "Pretend I was never here?"

   "Right there with ya." Faith stretches with both hands, mirroring Willow's earlier pose. "So you share my strength, huh? Anything else?"

   "Just physical attributes. _Not_ that kind," she warns, hastening on. "Muscle, resilience -- those are energy. Reflexes are more subtle, more...complex. I'd need a spell to take out moving targets at a hundred paces. And things like weapon skills, prophetic dreams -- those are strictly part of the Slayer heritage. I'm just not built for it."

   Faith mulls this over. "Why a strawberry?"

   "Every ritual needs a focus." Something isn't right; the Slayer appears lost in contemplation, and not necessarily of the good. "Penny for your thoughts?"

   Faith looks up, clearly apprehensive.

   "This is -- so we don't have to worry? About you?"

   Understanding kicks in, at least in part. "Hey, no. It's not --"

   "One more. For me?"

   Willow silently nods as a strong hand encompasses her own.

   "Xander -- when he saw us that night, and jumped to conclusionville? Felt like he was the only one actually _worried_ about you. Everyone else, it was like -- no big deal. Bad-ass witch can take care of herself." The Slayer's voice is very quiet. "I won't hurt you."

   "I know." Faith still looks like she's gnawing on mental fingernails as Willow continues. "And I trust you. But I don't think you'll ever believe me..." She looks into brown eyes, her own glossy and black, rimmed in green.

   "Unless I show you."

   A tiny _poof_ fills the air, and fades.

   "See? All gone." She leans closer; the merest breath of space between them. "Just you and me..."

   The quiet sigh as their lips meet is unlike anything she's ever heard. Hands slide up her flanks, over her shoulders; Faith's hesitant response is growing bolder, incoherent murmurs that sound vaguely obscene, make Willow want to tear her pretty new outfit to shreds in her haste to feel skin.

   She doesn't let up as she allows herself to be rolled over. "You're shaking."

   "Tryin' not to break your ribs..." Teeth sink in her ear, drawing a gasp. Faith sounds equally tightly wound, body draped across hers, fingers fumbling at the buttons of her blouse. "_Please_ tell me you ain't wearin' a -- oh thank god..."

   "Not a requirement for some of us --" Willow stares down in rapt fascination, watching herself crinkle under the oral assault. "Don't tell me you -- haven't had practice..."

   "Don't want anything in my way..." Faith's right hand finds Willow's unoccupied left, circles her wrist in a gentle vise. She nearly whines in frustration.

   "But --"

   "Ya still got one." A particularly hard suck sends a jolt through her frame, as the other hand disappears under her skirts. "Use it."

   "Not fair..." Her protest turns to a sigh as Faith massages upward. Blunt nails drag across her skin, different kind of tension coiling inside.

   "Know what I want?"

   She trembles at the sound of that voice, at fingertips on cotton; helpless to keep from pushing back at this too-gentle touch.

   "These. Off."

   Willow does too; can't think of a single reason not. Which is odd, because she's sounding downright sassy.

   "What'll you give me for 'em?"

   Faith looks up, releasing her nipple with an audible pop.

   "_Give_ ya?" The Slayer lets go long enough to grab the other hand; presses closer, pinning Willow's arms overhead. Her eyes are bright and wide, reckless smile dripping sweetness, flushed skin beginning to resemble the first strawberry, and Willow thinks her own must also look frighteningly huge. Maybe frightened, in spite of everything.

   "Whatever I want." Lips on her neck, fingers sliding up and over waistband. "And after --" Winding in from offsides, tugging clingy material from dampening flesh. "After..."

   "You said that already --" She lifts in cooperation and Faith gives a yank, pulling her underwear down her legs, twisting round her ankles til they come free, only to be tossed aside. The roaming hand runs up her thigh, sliding her dress along with; detouring to follow the curve of her hip, over her abdomen.

   "If you're _real_ good..." She tenses at the splay of fingers, heavy pressure on her mons that lightens and descends as the mouth grows more demanding, travelling from neck to chest and back again. Her legs part almost on their own, hips angling _toward_ the moving hand that's already retreating, nails raking ticklish ribs. Willow shivers, swallowing a moan of disappointment.

   "_If_ you're good..." The grip on her wrists tightens, Faith's other hand meandering lazily between her breasts, over her shoulder. "I'll let ya get your hands on me..."

   "Oh --" The Slayer grabs her chin, holding her in place for another kiss; working toward her ear, biting down when Willow tries to turn her head. "Hey!"

   Faith laughs and _now_ she can move, nuzzling warm neck, returning the favor with a nip of her own. Fingers dig in her thigh, just this side of pain.

   "C'mon, Red." The husky voice sounds remarkably peaceful. "Open wide."

   "Oh, god..." Willow's eyes shut in reflex as she obeys, cool air caressing the ache between her thighs; cheeks aflame to envision herself laid out like a sacrifice, hair wild and tousled, breasts exposed and spittle-slick. Fingers come to rest on her quivering center, and she looks up to an unreadable smile.

   "Hey?" That came out more questiony than intended. The grin broadens.

   "Damn. You're --" Faith falls silent, seemingly overcome.

   The grip on her wrists eases as Willow shifts, staring up. "Easy?"

   "Sexy." Faith leans in, unblinking, so close she can't turn away. Willow can feel herself swell, spread further under insistent fingers working in growing juices, fast becoming a swamp. Or maybe jungle is a nicer image, but rational thought is coming undone under this ever more insinuating touch; dig and dip at her edges and deeper, _two_ vaguely becoming _three_, thumb (feels like) caressing the hardening knot above, all the while pinned just as much by that gaze.

   "Like?"

   "Very..." The anxiety is starting to dissolve as she lies there, held down at both ends, unable to repress a giggle at the notion. No matter what else is in those eyes, Willow would swear there is love; rough and difficult, but love nonetheless she longs to return.

   "Then talk to me." Suddenly she's empty and squirming; Faith never breaking eye contact, hungrily licking her fingers 'til they glisten. Willow's mouth has gone dry, probably because all the moisture in her body seems to be concentrating elsewhere, turning her into one big puddle.

   "Words..." Faith reaches down for fresh plunder, nipping at her neck. "Not so good...right now --" The sentence turns to a stutter as she feels herself filled again, in one smooth stroke.

   "That's cool too..." The strain in Faith's voice is evident, arms tense with the effort of holding back; no _in_ or _out_, just agonizingly casual rocking that reaches all the softer, deeper spots. Inner muscles pulse and quake, overpacing the slow movement within, subsiding to gentle tremors. "Means you're speechless."

   "Thoughts -- mostly non-verbal..."

   "Want more?"

   For a second she thinks _more fingers_, caught on a precipice of indecision. Faith is licking her lips, very deliberate, like --

   "Oh god no --" Faith's eyes widen and Willow hurries on, low and desperate. "Too sensitive, just -- just do me like this --"

   One eyebrow rises, grin slowly turning lecherous.

   "Whatever you want. But I _gotta_ get a taste."

   "Wha--"

   "An' so do you." Her body cries out at the shock of absence, at fingers on her lips, her own scent heady and overwhelming through the growing musk in the air. Willow hesitates only a moment before eagerly accepting, weak-kneed to see that determined expression melt as she suckles; all too aware of the obvious symbology and knowing makes her suck harder, until those fingers are brushing her throat.

   Faith growls as she draws back, lapping down to her knuckles and forcing them apart, putting every ounce of longing into an imploring gaze.

   "Damn, woman..." The Slayer pulls loose, silencing any objections with a brutal kiss. Willow's hands are abruptly free, immediately tangling through all that hair as it trails down her body; lips tracing pale freckles along her skin, hands knotting in her dress, pushing it up over her legs, around her waist. One cheek comes to rest on her thigh, and Faith inhales greedily, eyes dragged downward.

   "Always knew you were a natural..." The hot breath is exquisite torture, a spark of embarassment.

   "Natural?"

   "Redhead..." She watches, shallow breathed, as hands travel under her thighs, lifting as Faith bends down, tongue grazing the dividing line of uncharted territory. Willow lets out a squeal, very nearly calls a halt before throwing her head back, pushing thought away; it's getting easier and harder by the second, what with hot velvet snaking _along_ and _between_, long and slow from top to bottom. Her hips rise to meet that searing wet but it's already gone, fingernails drawing a whimper from deep in her throat.

   She looks down to Faith, cheeks wet and shining.

   "Open wide, Red. Means eyes too."

   "Please..." Willow sounds very small, to herself, and possibly this wasn't the best choice of words. Faith grins, in a way that can only spell trouble.

   "_Please_ what?" The Slayer's voice is raw silk as she crawls back on the bed, dragging her captive to the edge, almost demure as she kneels and settles in to feast. Willow reaches out blindly for the hands on her thighs, desperately wanting to return this touch. Fingers clasp hers in acknowledgment but Faith is intent on her task; pushing her legs back, teasing the taut cluster of nerves beginning to peek out.

   "Was that a...rhetorical...question --" She's being split in a million pieces, thoughts splintering every which way as she unfolds under this loving caress: Wanting to laugh, at how years of fighting vampires haven't made the words _eat me_ into something horrid; unable to speak for the nervy, jangling tightness spreading further, and the dissociative amazement of _Faith_, doing this, to her. Willow bites her lip in concentration, cramping heat rising in her tummy, a little grunt wrenches from her then Faith's buried between her legs and this is no longer dainty licking, hands hold her thighs apart and she's being eaten alive, tongue burrowing up and inside like a snake as she shakes and spasms.

   Somehow she reaches down, seizes a hank of hair in one fist, fighting to keep her eyes open. The Slayer's movements slow to an easy, irregular rhythm; sometimes straining deep, swirling inside; sometimes glued to her center, humming with satisfaction, alternating sucking with insistent nibbles. It's the last time she does it, eyes still fixed on Willow's, that thin heat rolls through like a storm front, seconds later she thinks she _must_ be pulling hair out --

   When everything stops, dissolves into a slow, sobbing kiss that becomes Faith looking down with infinite tenderness.

   "Sshh...s'okay..." Willow dives into strong limbs and warm bosom, torn between reassurance and release. One arm cradles her as the Slayer stretches out alongside. "'S'alright. I gotcha..."

   Near frantic, on the verge of tears; electric thrill at the taste of herself on those lips. "I just --"

   "I know..." She watches, immobile, as Faith suckles at her fingers again; reaching down, slowly working back inside, letting girth do the job instead of length. Willow can feel her hips bearing down, forcing glorious fullness deeper as her hands work through all that hair, trying to encourage more kissing and sucking without actually _yanking_; nipples and neck under tormenting siege, her breath quickens when Faith pushes just a little harder, whispers _Come on, yeah, like that...feels so good, the way you squeeze, come all over me_ and she loses sight when her eyes roll back, she does that every time and everything

   is fire, and flood

   She comes back to Faith still inside, holding her close, soothing away aftershocks.

   "Don't --" Willow grabs the Slayer by the wrist, buries her face in the other woman's neck. "Don't go..."

   Faith only hugs tighter, producing a solitary sniffle. Willow's lips trace patterns on skin, her voice a whisper.

   "Not gonna cry..."

   "God, I hope not."

   Laughter bubbles inside at this casual humor, a hint of actual trepidation, and the spell is broken.

   "Careful --" She mewls and shudders, tipping her hips up as Faith eases out. Strong arms wrap around her and Willow is free to cling; heart and mind at peace, the very definition of starstruck, sun and moonstruck into the bargain.

   "Oh..." Little shivers run throughout, conditioned air cold on all her wet spots. Faith's breathing is slow and deep, a marathon runner flush with first wind, just hitting stride.

   A light kiss lands on her head. "Wanna buy another vowel?"

   "You..." Aching legs give way, collapsing to the mattress.

   "Wait, I know this. Oh, you, eight --"

   "As in --" Tears blossom as Willow hugs back, so hard one of them must surely break. "Thank you..."

   Another chuckle, more nervous. "First time I heard _that_ one."

   Her own anxiety pales compared to this familiar defensiveness. Willow draws back, holding Faith's gaze.

   "I mean it."

   "Kinda feels like I should be sayin' it." One hand strays lower, stroking her pubic hair; rearranging her dress at a more modest angle.

   "Then say it..." She pulls Faith down, blindly covering her face and neck with kisses. "God, Goddess...you can tell me anything, you hear me? Anything..."

   The Slayer returns her embrace, kissing tears away. A quiet whisper tickles her ear.

   "I'm on the rag."

   She giggles, smacks Faith on the ass, hard. "Big faker."

   "Heh." Lips smile against her cheek. "Guess my poker face ain't what it used to be."

   Willow throws both arms around the Slayer, dress falling to her hip as she slides one foot along that taut, sinuous body. "God, do you have any idea -- how long it's been..."

   "Since --" Faith lifts her head, startled.

   Willow just looks back, watching the play of emotions from disbelief to dawning realization. Faith opens her mouth, shuts it; going lip-bitey as she does the math.

   "A year and a month." She reaches up to caress neck and shoulders, massaging away sudden tension. "Plus a few days."

   "Tara." It's not a question, but Faith appears shaken, if not incredulous. "Jesus, you mean -- not even since we been _here?_ Y'know -- solo?"

   Her only reply is a tighter embrace.

   "Damn." The inevitable joke telegraphs itself a mile away. "You think _you_ got performance anxiety?"

   Willow smiles, with a tinge of sadness. "Wasn't really in the mood."

   Faith raises one eyebrow.

   "Well, until you..." The blush feels stronger than ever. "Said something. And then we were -- busy."

   "I think you were dyin' for it when you popped inside my head." Faith is comfortably stretched out on top, one leg wrapped around Willow's own. "Just didn't know it yet."

   She ducks her head, abruptly shy. "Maybe."

   "No maybes about it. If you were a guy, you'da been backed up to your eyeballs."

   "Ew!"

   A soft laugh, as Faith brushes locks of hair from her forehead. "Not exactly complainin' here."

   The kiss is slow, and Willow responds in kind; fire rising as Faith broadens her coverage from cheeks to jawline, licking like a kitten at the corners of her mouth. Her hands slide down to the hem of the shirt, inside over smooth skin, powerful muscle. _Make that a lion cub..._

   Faith moans, bites down a little too hard on her earlobe, and Willow squeals, digging her own nails in. Hard cords of back muscle tremble and dip as the Slayer arcs against her, bodies pressing through thin cotton. The jeans aren't exactly painted on but they're too tight to get into, and clothes are an increasingly silly idea.

   "How about you?"

   "Mmm." The teeth remain firmly attached. "Bit longer. Wasn't keepin' track."

   "Really?" Surprise overwhelms lusty, and Faith relinquishes her prize.

   "With someone else? Yeah."

   "Oh, your torrid prison romance?" Faith just snorts. Willow slides her hands up and over deltoids, subconsciously ticking off _lateral, anterior..._ "What about...solo?"

   An offhand shrug. "Couple days."

   "Really." The hesitation is hardly necessary to put two and two together. "Was it a nice shower?"

   "Hell yeah. 'Course, I was thinkin' about you." Faith's grin grows wicked. "And Xander."

   She feels her eyes widen. "Okay...not _quite_ the response I was looking for --"

   "You _do_ remember I almost hit that again instead, right?"

   The Slayer sounds utterly unselfconscious, and Willow has to smile.

   "I seem to recall that discussion."

   "So, not talkin' fratboy fantasy. Just...y'know." The pink tip of a tongue emerges, running over full lips. "Lotta history there."

   Willow tries not to sound too skeptical. "A history of once?"

   "Hey, for me? Seein' 'em after? That's a lot." Still with the lip-moistening, and something in those eyes reminds her of clothes flukes, hot stolen kisses. For the first time, thinking of Faith and her best friend and not feeling sad; in fact --

   "Sounds like fun. I mean --" No idea, which of them is redder. Maybe her, imagining what can make this woman blush. "Sounds like you had fun."

   "Good times." Faith is swaying gently back and forth; casually lifting Willow's arms, nudging both hands toward her chest. "But I'm thinkin' you could show me a better one."

   She grins as her palms glide over stiffening nipples. "Might be hard to top _your_ fantasies." Hips settle in her lap with a grind, brown eyes flaring at her experimental pinch. "Speaking of being on top..."

   Faith leans down with a look of friendly challenge. Willow steels herself for another nip, but the Slayer merely hovers overhead; lips a tantalizing fraction away, curled in a faint smile.

   "Let's see what you can do from down there."

   She wraps herself completely around the other woman, cutting off any further nonsense with a kiss. Grabs hair, involuntarily pushing up and then there's nothing _in-_ about it, steamy denim rubbing hard against her thigh; free hand exploring sloping curves, over and down, toying with the top button of Faith's jeans.

   The Slayer apparently can't resist providing assistance, and Willow grins. "Eager much?"

   "Ready to pop -- bit of an understatement..." Faith pauses in mid-unbutton, radiating embarrassment before sitting up. "Don't move --"

   It doesn't take a rocket scientist as the Slayer quickly unlaces and removes her boots; tosses them on the floor with a thud, crawling over to recapture waiting lips. The excitement is contagious, kindling desire burning away her carefully constructed plan to hear her girlfriend beg. Fingers intertwine, fumbling with the remaining buttons, and Willow seizes her opportunity, working under the top; taking advantage of the arching back to completely remove it, briefly interrupting the kiss.

   She forces herself to go slow, both hands encompassing the more substantial chest before her. Drinks in the sight, momentarily speechless; thoughtless, even, apart from something like _gosh, look at that_, and there is so very much nice at which to look, Willow can almost forget she's still hanging out of her own dress. Her eyes focus on a contender for world's cutest navel before sliding down, halting at the fine white line just below.

   The Slayer looks ready to speak, falls silent as fingers come to rest on the faded scar.

   "I never knew this was here." The witch's voice is soft, almost reverent.

   Faith shivers as arms circle her waist, soft kisses ghosting her belly. Hands hover nervously over Willow's shoulders, seemingly unwilling to grab on. Or so it feels, though the link between them is long faded, and Willow has never prided herself on any special insight into the minds of others.

   She tries another nip, rewarded with a satisfying yelp. "Wuss."

   "More --" The words break off in a hiss, curve of stomach rippling under her fingers. Willow looks up with a hesitant smile.

   "More of that?"

   "Whatever you got..." Hands wind in her hair, urging her on, and the pure hunger on that face is almost too much.

   Willow shivers, remains very still.

   "Hey. I just meant --" The Slayer's fingers remain comfortably entwined; lust undiminished, despite the return of the dark and troubled she wears so well. "Whatever you got -- I can take it." Her lips brush Willow's forehead, husky voice thickening further. "I want it."

   "I --" The heat of those words doesn't offset the cold twinge in her belly. For a split second she isn't touching this body but wearing another's skin; looking into loving eyes as the chasm yawns beneath.

   "You want me...to hurt you?"

   Faith looks thrown, then actually _laughs_, leans in with a smile. Willow feels her embarrassment muted by the thrill of contact, breasts coming together soft and hard.

   "Plenty of time." The Slayer's breath is warm at her throat, one hand stroking the length of her back. "If that's what you're into..."

   "No -- I mean --" Faith isn't stopping; lifting up her skirts, delving from behind into her, still dripping

   (_say it, God, say anything_)

   "Not so much with the Mistress of Pain?" Faith sounds perfectly at ease, even as the hand at her ass gives an ungentle squeeze that makes Willow moan, push back and wriggle all at once.

   "Just do what comes natural..." Their breaths are definitely coming harder, awkward hands working together, pushing pulling jeans and underwear down; Faith kicking away clothes without a thought to where they land before crawling back into her lap, straddling her with a look of absolute hunger. "Might not've been waitin' as long as _some_ people --"

   Her mouth goes dry again as the Slayer grabs her hand, raises it to her lips to slather and suckle with something approaching desperation. The air conditioning is starting to become lost in their combined heat; sweat under clothes, on exposed skin.

   She hazards a guess. "Long enough?"

   "Fuckin' A..." The growl of approval and shifting hips as she reaches down leave little doubt she's on the right track. Faith feels just as imagined, wild and untrimmed. Slickened fingers briefly fumble, find their target, gathering wet before responding to unsubtle pressure; pushing deep, curling up.

   The Slayer freezes above, trembling with effort or enjoyment. Willow ignores her aching shoulder, leans up to capture an earlobe.

   "Don't hold back..."

   The gritting of teeth is a tangible thing. "I squeeze the wrong way, you lose an arm --"

   She reaches round back with her free hand, grabs hard. Faith actually moans into her mouth.

   "Then I guess you'll have to be careful." Willow can't help sounding pleased, with herself and the results. "In a...passionate, unrestrained kind of way."

   The Slayer merely twists in her grasp, shimmies 'til another digit slips in, bringing another quiet hiss, and a smile of delight from Willow. Faith's eyes are closed, hips moving in delicate circles; face a study in concentration as a low rumble issues from her throat. "God, that's so fuckin' good..."

   "Yeah?" She reaches up to grab dangling hair; barely has to pull before Faith leans back, arching as her mouth latches on. "Want more?"

   Faith shivers, smiling at the slight mumble. "_I_ ain't too sensitive..."

   "How bad do you want it?"

   The tone is casual but Faith's eyes practically fly open, staring with equal lust and curiosity. She stiffens as Willow eases out; nostrils flaring at the sight of the witch suckling her own fingers, pressing against her in a crush of breasts and lips and all.

   "Enough to let me drive?"

   "Think you can take me?"

   The Slayer's voice is soft despite the trademark cockiness, an unquiet edge. Willow smiles.

   "If you let me." And that's how it appears to be going, or growing harder to deny with each moment, because there's a difference between passive acquiescence and whatever its polar opposite is that involves, not just _allowing_ oneself to be pushed back and down among the pillows, but becoming an active participant. Because Faith is looking more turned on than ready to bolt, if not by the greatest of margins.

   "Why would I wanna do that?"

   "Because I want it." She ignores the subtle remaining challenge; half-kisses, half-crawls her way down the other woman's body as Faith watches in silence. A small sound of protest escapes when Willow's hands abandon her breasts to the chill air.

   "And because we both know..." Gently, oh-so firmly insinuates herself _between_; shoulders encouraging thighs apart as she nestles in, dips her head for the softest possible kiss.

   "I'll make it worth your while."

   The Slayer's breath is ragged; hands stroking her hair, tugging, letting go. "Wanna keep touchin' you --"

   "And why would I want to let you distract me?" Willow's dulcet tones are without guile or mischief, only a hint of amusement. Still she can't help the smile that's distraction enough, makes lips and cheeks curve in a giggle against this hothouse flower

   (_pussy, God, say it_)

   "Will --" The strain in Faith's voice is approaching snap, but Willow will have none of it. Not with this moment to have; this woman.

   "I know you wouldn't mind if I made it easy." She bends down for another taste, shivers at the rough drag of linen over her nipples. "Long as you've been waiting...I could do you just the way you like it. The way you know I can. Fast..." She grabs Faith by the hips, watches that expression melt as she pulls up and back.

   "Rough."

   Faith clutches the bedposts, wide-eyed, intent on the sight below; splayed out in her lap, ripe for the taking.

   "But I don't want this to be easy." Dainty nibbles, in between words

   (_don't talk with your mouth full_)

   clit throbbing in sympathy when she covers Faith's own, scours and sucks until the Slayer's hips are thrusting up. Lets go with a smack, breath harsh in her ears.

   "I want it to be special."

   One of the bedposts emits an ominous creak.

   "God, Red -- quit playin' around --"

   "But that's _exactly_ what I'm doing." Willow doesn't hide the teasing as she continues her explorations. "Come on. You _know_ I have to take time to enjoy this..."

   She sinks deep and sudden, drawing an appreciative groan from them both, along with a fresh fountain of juice. Faith is acrid without being bitter; strong, somehow sweet and familiar.

   "Isn't that what you were thinking when you did this to me? How you wanted to draw it out...make it last?" A strangled keen as she grabs harder, pushes in with a growl. She's growing bolder, duplicating her own glorious torture; diving deep, feeling the squeeze of inner muscle, pulling back to lap and tease. "Fighting not to just shove one hand down your pants and --"

   "Please --"

   The word alone would be sufficient, and Willow looks up, startled. Faith's eyes are huge, her entire body trembling.

   "Please -- just, lemme be on top, I swear I'll be careful, it's not you it's good oh _fuck_ \--"

   "Shh..." Her decision is instant, painless. She lays a calming hand on Faith's belly, soothing away blooming embarrassment. "Stay there, okay? I got you..."

   She offers her best reassuring smile before turning, leaning over on her hands and knees. The hair tie is still on the table by the bedside, and she indulges in a saucy wiggle; wonders how long it would take to get jumped under these circumstances, if she had to go searching. Settles into a demure sitting position, makes a show of smoothing her dress while checking Faith out from behind lowered eyes, hyperaware of the contrast between her ladylike demeanor and bare breasts still hanging out. Which are very much where the Slayer's gaze is directed as Willow raises her arms, before finally dragging upward; widening as she pulls her hair back in a simple ponytail.

   She leans back on the bed, arms wide; lips slightly parted, watching that stare burn holes in her skin.

   Their hands meet as she helps the other woman slowly climb on, and even with all the care and forethought it's still almost awkward, and a little more, until they find the right angles and then it's so right she cries out; muffled by the weight, drowned out by her lover's voice. The Slayer tightens and squirms, staring down, caressing her hair as one hand strays toward their joining; snarls when Willow slaps it away, gasps when she pulls down harder, straining up, redoubling her efforts. The involuntary noises from her laboring mouth echo Faith's own, except the other woman's voice has dropped to a subsonic hum, a fuzzy stream of F-word mutterings, over and over in various combinations. Hands grab hers, pull them back to breasts, encouraging pinches that quickly become brutal but seem to be exactly what's required; Willow's jaw is beginning to ache, but the sounds when she obeys the urgent command of _harder_ and _right there_ are ample indication the end is imminent and then there are no words, Faith is holding her head in both hands and she forgets all about stopping, only keeping the tongue-lashing going and

   (_breathing, that's the ticket_)

   hunched over her, shaking in long, drawn-out spasms, yelling loud enough to

   (_wake the dead_)

   on the verge of hanging on, for dear life

   when Faith rises in a convulsive shudder, falls beyond her reach.

   The first thing she notices, between trying to breathe, is her thighs rubbing together; hips grinding in a frenzy, slowing with the beat of her heart. Willow has no idea how long they lie unmoving, and less reason to care; long enough for pants and groans to slow to near-standstill, to lick her lips nearly numb, juices drying on her cheeks. Enough for her to exert the energy and presence of mind to roll over, crawl up the deliciously naked body underneath and settle in with a sigh; one arm and leg draped over Faith as she nuzzles the back of her neck.

   "You okay?" She feels a momentary urge to curse at her own triteness. "You don't have to --"

   "Good." Her heart flutters and slows as Faith blindly reaches back; finds her hand, gives a squeeze. "I'm good..."

   She stifles a giggle at the near-yawn, runs her other hand down the Slayer's back. Buffy felt the same, all smooth skin and taut muscle, though smaller in every way; feminine curves hardened and ground down, a china doll with a kung-fu punch. Willow has always been amazed at the power in that delicate body, in a way she can't be at the strength in this very different one in her arms.

   "You're sure?"

   "Mmhmm..." Faith eases back into her, falls still again.

   Inside her head everything is silent, all ajumble, and she can't help but compare. Oz had been cool intensity and quiet strength; Tara softness and warmth, a languorous shock. She had known Faith would be different. Scared it would be _too_ different. Happy to respond to that power with equal passion.

   Wondering, which of them has changed the more.

   "I foresee our greatest obstacle to be clashing tastes in entertainment."

   "Hey." She can practically see the smile, for all Faith is facing away. "Tryin' to enjoy my afterglow, here."

   Willow falls silent, abruptly wishing for a full-body hug. The twinge in her stomach says she's being insecure, but insecurity is the least of reasons to lie touching nose to toes, watching every thought and emotion in another's eyes. The slow, smooth strokes of her hand along Faith's back are growing hesitant, a little skittery.

   Faith turns, sees her expression.

   "Sorry -- I'm a dumbass." The Slayer rolls over, propped up on one elbow. "You know you can tell me anything. So -- whaddya want?"

   She tries for romantic over pathetic. But, can't have one without the other.

   "You."

   Arms open, a clear invitation.

   "Ya got me." Willow crawls in, snuggles up hard; feeling and hearing the smile. "For better or worse."

   Dust motes linger in the afternoon sun, indeterminate particles drifting in space. Her shoulder's still sore, she could use another drink; should probably claim the bathroom, before anyone else gets back. Faith lies quiet under her fingers, lazy thump in her chest already lizard-slow, and Willow imagines this demon girl heart beating one atrium, one ventricle at a time. Why not, with so much power to spare?

   She lies there, breathing in the moment. Happy. Content. A little afraid, of the boundless possibilities. Her own heart is tripping, and not for the oxygen.

   She focuses on the beat. Lets it slow, as breath deepens. This is the best moment.

   She's not going anywhere.

   "What am I gonna do with you?"

   Faith chuckles again. "Don't know about you..."

   A soft kiss on her head.

   "...but I can't wait to find out."

 

>   
> _I'd love to give myself away_  
> But I find it hard to trust  
> I've got no map to find my way  
> Amongst these clouds of dust.  
> Fear can stop you loving  
> Love can stop your fear  
> Fear can stop you loving  
> But it's not always that clear.
> 
> \- [Morcheeba](http://www.alwaysontherun.net/morch.htm#b8)  
> 

 

-dj

[Boomtime, 73rd Bureaucracy, YOLD 3172](http://yoyo.cc.monash.edu.au/~acb/norton/)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the story continues

 

in

 

**Faith the Vampire Slayer**

[1x01: "Big Country"](http://i36.photobucket.com/albums/e16/imrowan/ftvs.jpg)

 

coming this fall.


End file.
